


If you like Piña Coladas

by stephanieh



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, And More Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, excellent poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanieh/pseuds/stephanieh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you had asked Bilbo Baggins eight years ago what his life would be like in Erebor, he would have guaranteed it would not be a bore. That's what one expects when they agree to an arranged marriage to a dwarf king and move almost all the way across Middle-Earth to a mysterious, recluse dwarf kingdom in the East.</p><p>Now, eight years later, Bilbo Baggins is miserable. His husband is kind and respectful but also distant and busy. Bilbo finds himself craving the romance he dreamed of in his youth. So, if love won't come to him at home, he will go find that particular adventure himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo had to use all his Hobbitsh powers of stealth to sneak out of of bed without waking Thorin. During the night, the King's arm had woven itself around the Hobbit's stomach and clutched his nightshirt in one big hand. Bilbo gently removed Thorin's arm from his person, quickly replacing himself with a pillow so Thorin would notice no change in his absence. True to form, the King simply snuggled the surrogate husband closer, never so much as batting an eyelash. Bilbo crept away.

He felt more than a little bad about keeping secrets from his King and his husband of eight long years, but some things simply must be done. Or at least, that's what he told himself as he stole away across the bedchamber and out into the spacious living quarters of the king's suite.

Straightening from the hunched pose he didn't realize he had assumed, he moved towards the door with much anticipation. 

Bilbo's weekly sanity relied completely on the special item he had delivered from Dale in secret. After all, one Hobbit could only take so much bickering and burrowing and jewel worshipping before his dwarf quota for the week was filled to the brim. He deserved to do something for himself.

The item Bilbo had delivered wasn't anything suspicious in of itself, or anything that would seem consequential to anyone except Bilbo (and Thorin, if he ever caught wind of it). It was a paper. The Men of the town wrote it to inform their people more efficiently of the current news- but Bilbo read it for other reasons.

Hoping it had been delivered as expected, Bilbo searched around the door for a moment, tight anxiety creeping through his chest. What if it wasn't here? Then he would have to wait another entire week before… but wait-

"Ah-ha!" he whispered as he unwedged the paper from its hiding place behind the tall vase of flowers he had placed by the door.

Chuckling at the exaggeratedly noble portrait of Bard on the front page of the publication, Bilbo picked the paper and skipped happily over to his chair beside the fire. His foot slapped against the ground with a loud crack and he remembered himself. Pausing for a moment to listen, but hearing no evidence Thorin had woken, he resumed his sneaking towards his chair once he was sure he was still in the clear. 

He settled down in his green armchair- the one Thorin had had delivered all the way from Hobbiton on the night of their wedding- already beginning to look for his section. 

Most of the paper was the usual propaganda; Bard assuring the people of this or that, predictions of future harvests, the latest "incident" with their nearby dwarven neighbors. Bilbo flipped through the pages quickly, trying to find the one he was really looking for.

"Here it is," he mumbled to himself, mindful of his volume. "Personal ads."

It wasn't that Bilbo didn't like his husband. He liked Thorin perfectly fine, maybe even loved him at times. But there were some things an arranged marriage could not compensate for. Deep down, Bilbo had always been a little bit of a hopeless romantic. 

He understood now- and he had understood ten years ago- why he had had to marry the dwarf king. The trade routes between Erebor and the Blue Mountains could do, and had done, a great service to the lives of the Hobbits. As a race, they were less recluse and more educated to the ways of the world than they had been within remembered history. Bilbo had no doubt now, as he had before their alliance with Erebor, that the Hobbits were fit to defend themselves in the event of outside conflicts. It was a good feeling, being a member of a self-sufficient and sociable race. And all that from a little road.

Yes, Bilbo understood why it was necessary of him to marry Thorin. But that didn't make him any less depressed when watching other couples of their ages who had fallen in love without politics' intervention. They were doting and loving and beautiful… while Bilbo was trapped in the King's suite watching Thorin do paperwork, or sitting in on the council meetings and listening to Thorin shout his advisors into submission, or riding to Dale to attend the diplomatic meetings that Thorin had with Bard. He watched his husband attend to his kingly duties from the sidelines day after day.

Bilbo sighed inwardly as he came out of his reverie, and continued flipping through his paper. He was happy enough with Thorin. The personal ad he wrote had just been for fun. Out of curiosity. In retrospect, it had been a rather enjoyable thing to write. A nice exercise for his long-latent poetry skills. He didn't think it was half bad, actually.

 

_If you like blue skies and flowers,_

_getting caught in the rain,_

_If you're not into mining,_

_and you have half a brain,_

_If you like taking meals at midnight,_

_in the dunes of the cape,_

_Then I'm the love that you've looked for,_

_write to me and escape._

 

Maybe put to the sound of some upbeat music, it might even be suitable to share with the elven king's son the next time Bilbo saw him. Legolas had been asking after some further examples of his poetry for months.

Bilbo scanned the pages of personal ads- past boats on sale and workmen for hire, but he saw nothing that could be a response to his ad. 

Just as he was giving up hope, he spotted a little square of verse in the lower left of the last page. His heart leapt.

Bilbo heard a noise from the direction of the bedroom. He managed not to jump when he saw the hulking figure looming in the doorway, but it was a close thing.

"Bilbo?" the King asked, rubbing at his eye in a way that made the resemblance between him and his youngest nephew even more apparent. "Why are you awake, _ghishavel_? Are you well?"

Bilbo nodded frantically, trying to both hide the paper from his husband's view and make it seem like he wasn't hiding anything at the same time. "Yes, yes," he sighed, sounding more exasperated than nonchalant. "I just couldn't sleep, that's all. No need to wait up for me, you need your rest more than I."

Thorin looked at him skeptically with his bleary eyes, but wandered back into the bedroom nonetheless. "If you say so," he mumbled.

Bilbo breathed a deep sigh of relief. That was a close one. 

Remembering his discovery, he quickly forgot his husband's suspicion and pursued the small square of poetry he had spotted before the interruption. Upon closer inspection, he could hardly believe what he was reading.

 

_Yes, I like blue skies and flowers,_

_though I don't see much rain._

_I'm not much into mining,_

_And I've got at least half a mind_

_to meet you tomorrow,_

_at a bar called the Arrow._

_Meet with me and escape._

 

It was a horrible poem, really. Bilbo adored every word of it. He admired the writer's bravery all the more for publishing it, despite their obvious lack of skill.

Heart pumping a league a minute, Bilbo got up and paced around the room, trying to dispel some of the energy he was suddenly brimming with, quietness all but forgotten. Thorin already knew he was awake anyway.

He had two choices; he could go to the bar in Dale- lie to his unsuspecting husband, risk discovery by the entire population of the mountain, and put the trade route benefitting the whole of Hobbiton at risk. Or, he could stay here tomorrow and sit by Thorin's side during all nine hours of open court, trying not to fall asleep.

In the end, there was little choice at all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_You can do this, Bilbo Baggins,_ he thought _. Just think of it as an adventure._

 _Oh, an adventure, huh? And what happened on the last adventure you decided to go on, you pinhead? You went and sacrificed your home, your garden, your life- all to spend the remainder of your years in a glorified cave with a bunch of grumpy, impolite, brutish dwarves, and married the_ king _of them!_

 _Well that's why you need to do this,_ Bilbo thought, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart as he pulled his jacket on. _You have got to escape somehow, even if it's just for a little while. This way won't hurt anyone. Not you, not Thorin, and not the trade route. You can just go, come back, and never think about this again._

Wringing his hands he marched over to the door, only to pause again.  

Yesterday he had announced his intention to travel to Dale the following afternoon to Thorin over dinner. His husband, true to form, did not so much as bat an eyelash at the loss of his ' _ghishavel'_  for the day.

The king was supposed to be in open court all day, listening to some dwarf or another complain about mold in the bathhouse or drafts in the mines. But instead, when Bilbo had woken this morning, he had found a note on the table next to some buttered croissants: _Gone to investigate orc activities on the borders with Dwalin. Will not return until late tonight._  

So his husband had gone off on some dangerous mission, with only one guard to protect him, while _Bilbo_ was sneaking out to meet with some _man_ from _Dale_ whom he met through a _newspaper ad_!

What was he _thinking!_

 _Stop it,_ Bilbo told himself sternly. _It's too late to turn back now. If you don't go to Dale now that you've announced your intention to Thorin, it will be suspicious and you'll have hurt everyone for no reason. Best to enjoy the night, because it's happening, one way or another._

Taking a deep breath as he reached for the door, the shiny thread work on Bilbo's sleeve caught the light. He glared at it incredulously. How could he have been so foolish?

Here he was, the consort of the king, about to meet a stranger from Dale on a date in a bar, and he was  _branded with the symbol of Durin on his jacket sleeve?_  

Bilbo leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the door.

_I'm just not cut out for this adventuring business._

Hours later, a worn out and slightly cold Hobbit (as he had sacrificed his only heavy jacket for the sake of inconspicuousness) led his pony up to a tavern in a quiet alleyway of Dale.

He had changed into a light disguise before he left the king's rooms. He hadn't spent so long getting dressed since he was a young Hobbit dressing up for his first date.

If he was too heavily disguised, he would encounter suspicion on his way out of the mountain. What would the dwarves of Erebor think seeing their king's consort dressed in common clothing heading out into the night alone? But if he was recognized in Dale, he could be in serious trouble- and not just with his marriage. And if he were caught at _all_ , word would spread all over the two kingdoms about the king's consort sneaking around behind the king's back. And what would people say about their king then? 

The idea that Bilbo's actions might reflect badly upon Thorin brought a new pang of guilt, but Bilbo smothered it. It was too late to turn back now. 

The tavern looked nice enough. The windows were wide and bright, with laughter echoing through the glass on to the street. There was a freshly painted sign swinging on its peg above the door, spelling out 'the Arrow' in a sweeping script.

Still, Bilbo was nervous. This person could be anyone. A mercenary after the consort of the king, or looking to pilfer Erebor's wealth in whatever way necessary, or just a plain, old, strangely creative serial killer, looking to find his latest victim via un unsuspecting Hobbit and a newspaper ad.

Bilbo took a deep breath, laughing at himself inwardly. The person waiting for him in bar was probably just a nervous sap like himself, looking for an evening of companionship to get them through to next year alone. Besides, even if this person recognized him as the dwarven king's consort upon sight- which was unlikely- Bilbo had put no indication of his identity into their scant communications so far. Bilbo could understand that.

He took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists as he stared up into the deep blue of the sky in the waning light of day.

 

He may not be alone, but he might as well be. Thorin is a kind, thoughtful husband- but Bilbo doesn't want kind and respectful. He wants fire and passion- someone to wake him from the monotony of life with the spark of romance that he has craved since his boyhood. He can't take another minute of polite exchanges, respectful timetables, or mandatory kisses upon farewells. It's much too safe, much too quiet. He had to do this.

He took another deep breath, and opened the door.

Inside, it looked like any other upscale tavern, despite his racing nerves. The noise hit him like a wall as the light flooded onto the cobblestone street. He entered.

There were colors everywhere and everyone seemed to be moving- dancing, laughing, drinking. It was all Men, as he had expected. But which was the one who had written to him? No one had turned to acknowledge his entrance. How was he supposed to tell which one was his? He had no description, no name! _Oh, this is a horrible idea_ , Bilbo thought to himself. 

That's when he spotted the backs of two dwarfs, sitting at the bar. One dwarf started to turn at the sound of the bell on the door, and it was like time stopped. 

Bilbo watched the dwarf as he turned- watched pale face come in to view, his black hair sweeping over his shoulder to reveal strands of grey at the temples. The shirt he was wearing was a deep, quiet blue. Bilbo hadn't known he owned anything so plain.

He stood from his stool, gaping at Bilbo in disbelief- an expression Bilbo mirrored- until his lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Bilbo reflected that he had never seen such a beautiful smile in his life.

"Ah, it's you," Thorin said, the deep bass of his voice reaching out like fingers into Bilbo's chest, resuscitating him as if from a long night. 

Bilbo's face felt wet, but he couldn't muster an effort to care. Instead, he started, brokenly, "I never knew…"

Thorin smiled again, reaching out his big hand to curl his warm fingers around Bilbo's small, cold ones. "It seems we both have much to learn," he said.

All propriety be damned, Bilbo threw himself into the arms of his husband of eight years with all the fervor of a young man in love, and kissed his soundly on the lips. The world became the gentle heat of Thorin's soft, thin lips over his, and the scratch of his beard on Bilbo's cheeks. He heard the other patrons of the bar making catcalls as if from a distance, but couldn't remember why he should care. He couldn't remember why he should ever care about anything except kissing this dwarf.

"This is sickening," Dwalin grumbled as he slid down from his stool at the bar beside where the King had sat. "I'll be outside with the ponies."

The guard made his way towards to door of the tavern, threatening any onlookers with his knuckledusters if they stared too long at the dwarf king and his Hobbit, neither of whom made any move to stop kissing any time soon.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♫ If you like pina coladas,  
> gettin' caught in the rain...♫
> 
> http://earlgreyhaught.tumblr.com/


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